Becoming Leverage & Viral Leverage
by Numb3rsGeek
Summary: Both series, the "Becoming" and "Viral" ones are gonna be here. Side Stories for "Our Darkest Hour" which is in the Leverage Crossovers, crossed with World War Z! READ THAT FIRST for this to make more sense. or read the book, either way.
1. Becoming Parker

**A/N: This is background for a fic I'm doing, called "Our Darkest Hour." The fic is a... slight crossover between Leverage and the book World War Z. It's only slightly Leverage... it's not the characters, but actors and crew. If y'all want to read that, I'll post it on here once I get it broken up into chapters. Each character will have TWO parts, for a reason I won't go into here. If you DON'T want spoilers for the story, then ONLY read part one, which will read "Becoming (character name)" while the others will be in a different format. You've been warned. Also, I'll have this before all the chapters, up until the "breaking it up into chapters" just in case. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... I don't own the concept of zombies either... **

She looked around, panicked. The first moan had been heard not even minutes before, but it had felt like eternity. Her job required her to be in good physical shape, but nothing could have prepared her for this. She had jumped out of buildings, but always attached to a harness. She had fought enemies, but the fights were usually staged. She had been asleep when they came. There was a party going on downstairs, but she didn't feel like joining in. She had finished up a day of filming, and was dead tired by the time she got home. She didn't know why there was a party. Maybe they were celebrating lasting this long; maybe they thought they were invincible. All that was certain now was that they were all dead, and all coming after her. She didn't turn around as she kicked the door shut behind her, and she barely hesitated as she leapt out the window and rolled as she hit the ground. It was just like she was taught, but with no landing pad. She tried to remember what she had read in her book, the one the military issued. She knew that she had to meet her friends on Thursday, but she didn't want to worry them by staying with one of them until then. With that thought in mind, Beth hurried through down town LA, going from house to abandoned house, trying to find shelter. She finally found a place high enough to sleep in without anything coming through the windows. After climbing up, she used a nearby candle to torch the stairs, careful not to burn the whole place down. She soon fell into a restless sleep.

She didn't even have time to react. Something was on top of her before she could even react. She didn't even open her eyes before grabbing her knife from her side and sticking it in between the eyes, right at the top of the nose. When she pushed the thing off her body and looked at it, however, she found herself gasping. It looked just like her friend, the one that she made in the apartment next to hers. But she didn't look like a zombie yet. She had been moaning, had attacked her just like a zombie would have… and yet her blood was still red. She peered down the stairway to find another dozen zombies, all moaning and trying to climb up. She retreated to the hallway and sat down for a second. She made a vow then and there. She would no longer wait until the last second. She would help any survivor, even if they were insane. From then on, she wasn't going to be Beth. Beth was the prewar her, the person that lived the pampered life, had enough to eat, didn't have to worry about zombies. From then on she was going to be the character she had learned to love, and yet fear becoming. She was going to be the thief with a knack for disappearing, the person who could probably kill someone with whatever she could find. The one who knew how to fight and defend her and her friend's lives. She wasn't going to be Beth Riesgraf anymore. No, from there on out, she was going to be Parker.


	2. Becoming Eliot

**A/N: This is background for a fic I'm doing, called "Our Darkest Hour." The fic is a... slight crossover between Leverage and the book World War Z. It's only slightly Leverage... it's not the characters, but actors and crew. If y'all want to read that, I'll post it on here once I get it broken up into chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... I don't own the concept of zombies either... I wish! It'd be neat :P**

The sun was just starting to set, and someone was running. This wasn't like a "I'm going for a jog before dinner" type of run, however. No, this was a "Something's chasing after me, and it's not a zombie so it's hella FAST" run. Quickly getting to a sturdy house, the man put as many things against the door as he could, then went to see if the bathroom had any water in the pipes. Just because there was no running water didn't mean that the pipes didn't have any in them. As he went into the room, he caught a glance of his reflection. As he studied the dirty glass, he realized just how much he did look like his character, and not just superficially. His hair was now dirty, but not too greasy thanks to cold dunks in the ocean, and his blue eyes were cold as ice now. His mouth seemed to be turned in an eternal snarl, one directed to an enemy that wouldn't be effected by it. He pondered for a second about the new muscles that had built up on his arms and legs due to the punching and running, but the thought fled as soon as he heard the pounding at the door. His right hand went down to the gun at his side as he shimmied to the back, trying to find a window to crawl out of. If he could get out, he'd be safe. At least, that was the plan before he discovered the zombies that were already in the house. He fired at them from a distance, taking down two of the four there. That's when he heard the noise that every survivalist was afraid to hear. The clicks rang in his ears, suddenly louder then the moans of the undead, and as blood rushed to his ears he knew what had to happen. He dropped the gun, grabbed the nearest object, and swung it hard. It connected with the zombie's head, and brown goop mixed with brains to form a paste on the wall. One more down. Another swing, and another connection later, the man put down his weapon and picked up the gun. "I hate guns." That was all he said as he walked out the back of the house. That was all he said to his gang when they met the next day. That was all that needed to be said. It was a secret vow. He'd no longer be just the musician, the actor that was a liability to his friends, and anyone around him. He would use his training to actually help others out of this mess. He wouldn't be just Christian Kane anymore. He would become Eliot.


	3. Becoming Hardison

He danced around, laughing and crying at the same time. Oh he was drunk. Very drunk. He'd feel that the next morning. But he didn't care. It's not like he had much longer to live. Not with zombies running around. No sir, not with all of them in the streets. Then he heard it. A soft call, hardly even a whisper at first, but it grew louder. It was enchanting to say the least. He looked around, chocolate brown eyes darting from person to person. There, in the corner, was a young girl, probably 15 years old tops. She had her eyes closed, and her blonde hair surrounded her head like a halo. But something seemed... off. He couldn't put his hands on it, but something was not right. He plugged his earphones in and shrugged it off. He just needed to go home and sleep it off.

His radio woke him up that morning. Thank goodness he lived in one of the few areas that still had radio coverage for anyone who still had a radio. He heard about the "massacre" as they had called it. He ran to the bathroom, trying not to think about what he had heard as he knelt before the toilet. Trying not to remember what they had said, every gruesome detail. Trying not to remember that odd girl with the enchanting voice. Trying not to remember his friends there, the friends that were now dead in that apartment, gutted, mouths ripped into an eternal smile, and eyes staring unseeing for eternity. He wondered what made him go home. Was it the fact that he was hungover? No that couldn't be it. He remembered putting his earphones in, and that had been that. He had just decided to head home. He couldn't shake off the horror, but he had to. He couldn't stay weak. He couldn't be little Aldis, the baby of the group, the one who was easily shaken. His weakness wouldn't be their downfall. When he met the team, he wouldn't be a weakling, or at least he wouldn't show it. He'd hide behind Hardison's cocky exterior, and let the role lead him on.


	4. Becoming Sophie

She sat in the dark, eyes closed, trying to remember what life was like before the war. Not that you could really call it a war. It was extremely one sided after all. She heard someone walk in, but she didn't move. Nor did she want to. She felt her friend's hand on her shoulder. It didn't last there long. Without a second thought, the woman had already stood up, heaved her lobo, and chopped off the hand that was just had been no moan, but there wasn't one needed. Her friend was no longer human, but whatever she was... She didn't want to think about it. She could feel it. The other could too, she knew it. She had seen their wary looks during filming, the nervous glances at people that were passing by. Beth looking at everyone with an almost hysterical look in her eyes. Christian looking at everything that moved like it would jump up and bite him. Aldis staring at everything that spoke. Even Tim, turning sharply whenever someone shuffled past him. She was as much to blame as any of them. She could feel the hairs on her neck stand on end when anyone stared for too long. She couldn't help it. There was something wrong, something she couldn't put her finger on. Turning to her friend, she gave one last sorrowful look as she beheaded what was once human.

The following days, she acted like everything was fine. That's just what she did. It's who she was. No, she thought. It's who she is. Sophie. So Gina swore that nothing would get her to show her true feelings. She'd act until the very end if need be. But she wouldn't be Gina for long. Only Sohpie could get through this kind of trial without shattering.


	5. Becoming Nate

His eyes opened up at exactly eight AM, just as they had every day and just as they would for as long as he could survive. He knew that it would take a miracle to get out of LA alive, but so be it. It was Wednesday, and as long as he survived until tomorrow, things may be ok. Tim looked around, his brow already drenched in sweat despite the cool winter air. There were no moans, no shuffles, nothing. It was silent, yet something still seemed wrong. He moved from the bedroom into the bathroom, and dipped his hands in the full bathtub. He remembered reading about survival in the military handbook, but never once had he thought he would actually need the information. Everything he had ever faced he had been able to handle on his own, maybe with the help of friends and family. But not this time. The sound of something breaking on the first floor made Timothy snap out of it. He had to be focused if he was going to survive. He saw his hand grab the silenced pistol as he snuck to the destroyed staircase. The zombie was near the front door, and was in range of the small weapon, but he couldn't do it. As he looked down at the creature, he saw his friend. He saw someone who had come over to watch football games, had toasted to a job well done. He didn't - couldn't - see just another zombie that he had to kill. Just then it turned. Though it still didn't have the sense to look up, it must have seen something. The moan started to build as a shot rang out. One bullet hole, nice and neat, and the zombie had collapsed. The moan had died out, meaning that no other zombie had heard it. A voice called out, but Tim barely registered it. He kept staring at the decayed form of his former friend. Slowly the man pulled himself up, dropped the ladder for his coworker and fellow actor, and walked lifelessly to the makeshift cooler in what used to be the guest bedroom. He stared at the bottle of scotch there, thinking for a minute before letting out a humorless laugh.

Eliot stood in the door way, watching as Timothy opened the bottle and poured two glasses: one for himself and one for his savior. A small frown replaced the neutral expression on Eliot's face as he watched his friend down his own glass before refilling it. He knew what was happening, what had already happened. It was the same coping mechanism that the hitter had used, and it was one that he was sure the others used as well. Timothy couldn't let himself be as open as he usually was. No, now he'd drown himself in alcohol, just as his character had before him. He'd spend restless nights ensuring the survival of his friends, his 'team' so to speak. He'd stop being Tim so that he could be Nate.


End file.
